the new life of dicky ticker

Tutti frutti, oh rudy – morning fix.

Tutti frutti, awrooty – evening mix

life on the edge

A myocardial infarction, say the learned folk – a heart attack, say you and me.

It starts with a twinge, such as the Fool had become used to every now and then, a fleeting stab as from the point of a knife, which immediately disappeared. Only this time the knife stayed in. I rode the scooter home from the swimming session, and climbed the stairs. And the knife was twisted. I told the Begum and the Princess that we might have to go to the hospital, but my composure was such, apparently, that they didn’t immediately take it in: “If you want”, they said. I wanted.

Down the stairs again, and a few steps to the car – and they stuck in another knife. And twisted it. Then the cold sweat broke out, and the Princess burned the red lights like a pro, and we were at the hospital in five minutes. Whereupon she went and snatched a wheelchair from the hands of a startled assistant, the Begum somehow manhandled the Fool into it, and in we went, making a beeline for the ER entrance. A recepcionist tried to stop us: “You need to register admittance first!”, she cried. “Yeah, yeah!”, said the Begum, “Sure we do”, said the Princess, and we barged through the doors.

People ask me if I felt fear, or was scared, or saw my life flashing before my eyes, but the Fool is one of those simple souls with a touching faith in Western Medicine – like a little boy’s absolute belief in the magic of a Band-Aid. So, just crossing the threshold into the ER put me in the mood of “relax, you are in the hands of professionals”. Plus, one knows how men’s brains are not geared to multi-tasking even at the best of times. And what I felt was pain. My mind was pain. No room for anything else.

They connected their tubes and their wires, and confirmed their diagnosis, and started pumping in the drugs and initiated the prepping for a catheterism. First, 2cc of morphine went in. Then another 2cc, and another 2cc … I think they went up to 8 or 10 cc (afterwards, the Begum said, my eyes were bright and merry like Christmas lights; I felt nothing. Honest). And then they did their thing – aspirating clots, inflating ballons, and inserting another two stents to add to the two already in my possession since 2007 (at this rate, my arteries will soon become continuous tubes of titanium mesh). And that’s how it was.

Now I’m waiting for new life instructions. Guess I’ll have to cut down on extreme physical exertion – perhaps I’ll stick to pruning roses, and call it exercise (in the way some people call chess a sport). And potter around the base of the Hill, and call it a brisk walk. And sit back on the boat while friends pull all the ropes, and call it sailing. Ah, well.

And I wonder if I shouldn’t pin a yellow warning roundel to my clothes – inscribed “Damaged Goods” (or perhaps “Bionic Man”, on days of a sunnier disposition).

Happy Christmas

the soundtrack of lost love

I hope that I'll find what I'm reachin' for
The way that it is in my mind
I hope that I won't be wrong anymore
And maybe I've learned this time

Someday I'll get over you
I'll live to see it all through
But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you

But I won't let it change me, not if I can
I'd rather believe in love
And give it away as much as I can
To those that I'm fondest of

Someday I'll get over you
I'll live to see it all through
But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you

Someday I'll get over you
I'll miss dreaming with you
Someday I'll get over you
I'll miss dreaming with you
Some day

Dreaming My Dreams With You, Cowboy Junkies

motoring life – pride

Street Fightin' Man – Landie Melo comes to town.

Thus far the Fool had only driven the Landie intermittently – mostly for short trips, mostly on dirt tracks –, and it's only in the past two or three weeks that I've been putting it to more normal usage: driving it on errands, interacting with other traffic, even taking it into town.


And the thing is: it's an inducer of Pride.


Years ago I had a Range Rover as a company car, so the feelings of superiority engendered by moving around on a higher level (or "y" coordinate) than the common motorist are nothing new to me – hell, even the current, modest, VW Tiguan provides a rewarding experience in that regard.


But the Landie is quite a few steps higher. So much so, that even regular SUVs have become objects of derision to me. No matter how hard I try no to look down my nose at them, beneath all the benevolence or sympathy I may affect there always lies the innate contempt for underlings of one who dwells on a higher plane. Of one able, as it were, to stare a truck driver in the eye and not blink (I'm even considering buying one of those license plates beloved of truckies, to prop on the dashboard against the windshield, announcing their name to the world: "MELO”).


Pride, quoi.

I wouldn't really care if I didn't know it's one of Seven things that can land you in Hell ...

wild life (8) – whitethroat

What's that?

Oh, hello there!

'Bye now!

Whitethroat (Sylvia communis) on a juniper near Magoito

the soundtrack of the hopeful life – aural sex

She may be the face I can't forget
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price
I have to pay

She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven
Or a hell

She may be the mirror of my dream
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No-one's allowed to see them
When they cry
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember 'til
The day I die

She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and rainy years

Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she

She, Charles Aznavour

life lessons that are priceless – oral sex

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.

To His Mistress Going to Bed, John Donne

  

life in the country – counting my chickens

Free range – Herdade do Barquete, Assumar (no, not my chickens, alas)

life in the country – toys for boys

Herdade do Barquete – Assumar, Oct. '14

Do you wish your kids spent less time messing around with the Playstation? Take them to a farm.

life lessons that are priceless– guilt as an incentive to creative work

"First things first: some serious procrastination. I tidy my bench, and in the process more distractions appear: something to repair, or a half-finished project that demands attention. When the sum of the guilt of not getting started is equal to or larger than my ability to stall, I start the proper work."

Two Turtle Doves, A Memoir of Making Things – Alex Monroe

Me, I hang the laundry out to dry, move pencils around, switch the order of books on shelves, check my emails, and then check them again … Any excuse to put off the moment when I finally have to, HAVE TO, trace the first fucking line on a sheet of paper. Agony.

life afloat – up close and personal

life afloat – catch me if you can

life on the hill – crown of thorns

The first chestnuts on the Hill – minuscule and inedible, but a start nevertheless

the soundtrack of the loveliest season

Leaves of brown they fall to the ground
And it's here, over there leaves abound
Shut the door, dim the lights and relax
What is more, your desire or the facts

Pitter patter of rain falling down
Little gleam of sun comin’ round
Take a walk when autumn comes to town

Little stroll past the house on the hill
Some more coal on the fire if you will
And in a week or two will be Halloween
Set the page and the stage for the scene

A little game that the children will play
And as we watch them while time away
You look at me and take my breath away, hmm

You'll be smiling, eyes beguilding
And the song on the breeze
Will call my name out in your dream

Chestnuts roasting outside as you walk
With your love by your side
The old accordion man plays mellow and bright
And you go home in the crispness of the night

A little later friends will be along
And if you feel like joining the throng
You just may feel like singing Autumn song
You just may feel like …

You'll be smiling
Eyes beguiling
And the song on the breeze
Calls my name out in your dream

Chestnuts roasting outside
As you walk with your love by your side
And the old accordion man plays mellow, mellow and bright
And you go home in the crispness of the night …

A little later friends will be along
And if you feel like joining the throng
You just may feel like singing Autumn song
Autumn song

It just may break out
You just may have to lose control
‘Cos you got it in your soul

You just may, you just may have to break out
And I hear the church bells chime
Way out in the distance …

Autumn Song, Van Morrison

It's so peaceful inside

the soundtrack of lovely water

Half a mile from the county fair

And the rain came pourin' down

Me and Billy standin' there

With a silver half a crown

Hands are full of a fishin' rod

And the tackle on our backs

We just stood there gettin' wet

With our backs against the fence

Oh, the water

Oh, the water

Oh, the water

Hope it don't rain all day

[Chorus:]

And it stoned me to my soul

Stoned me just like Jelly Roll

And it stoned me

And it stoned me to my soul

Stoned me just like goin' home

And it stoned me

Then the rain let up and the sun came up

And we were gettin' dry

Almost let a pick-up truck nearly pass us by

So we jumped right in and the driver grinned

And he dropped us up the road

We looked at the swim and we jumped right in

Not to mention fishing poles

Oh, the water

Oh, the water

Oh, the water

Let it run all over me

[Chorus]

On the way back home we sang a song

But our throats were getting dry

Then we saw the man from across the road

With the sunshine in his eyes

Well he lived all alone in his own little home

With a great big gallon jar

There were bottles too, one for me and you

And he said Hey! There you are

Oh, the water

Oh, the water

Oh, the water

Get it myself from the mountain stream

[Chorus]

And It Stoned Me, Van Morrison

It rained today on the Hill. And it stoned me to my soul.

life afloat – more seabirds (and a pair of waders)

A selection of seabirds, some of which I couldn't identify (other than to call them "gulls") even with professional help.

 

"What does the old geezer want with me? Better leg it ..." – herring gull (Larus argentatus).

Gull

Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus)

Gull

Standing guard

"Hey earthling!"

Gull

Beautiful symmetry – herring gull (Larus argentatus)

"Hey motor boatman, I'll race you" – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus)

Casting pearls – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus) lifting off in a trail of droplets

You beauty – oystercatcher (Haematopus ostralegus)

Pair of oystercatchers

Sanderlings alighting – (Calidris alba)

Poetry in motion – Cory's shearwater banking (Calonectris diomedea)

Sanderlings wading

We have lift-off – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus)

In the glow of the setting sun – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus)

Toeing the line – Cory's shearwater (Calonectris diomedea) zipping across the horizon

A bird of a different kind flying over the anchorage